


Five Stages

by lunick



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Unrequited Love, character angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunick/pseuds/lunick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tajima insists that he loves Hanai. Hanai just has to go through the stages to accept it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denial

"Hanai, this is boring!" 

Hanai looks up for barely a moment before returning his gaze to his homework. 

"It's homework. It's not supposed to be fun." 

"Can we do something else?" 

The captain sighs. How did he get stuck tutoring Tajima? Knowing Momokan, it was probably some effort to make them even more competitive with each other so they would work harder during games... or something like that. 

"No, because if you fail all your classes, you'll be kicked off the team, and we'll be screwed, so I'm going to help you with your homework until it's finished." I wouldn't be here if coach wasn't making me, he thinks but doesn't say. 

Tajima slumps down against the bed with a pout, picking up his pencil and twirling it around his finger to amuse himself. Hanai watches the trick for a moment before rolling his eyes, adjusting his glasses, and scratching out an answer on his own paper. 

It's quiet for awhile until the captain can hear his teammate shifting forward a bit and he hopes that it means that the clean up hitter will finally start working seriously. 

"Hanai."

"What." 

"I love you." 

Hanai lifts his head, his gaze following, but not really knowing where to land. His eyes shift from Tajima, who is resting his chin in his hands and looking at him with wide eyes, to the barely touched homework he's supposed to be helping his teammate with, to the door, trying to calculate how long it would take for him to run out of it and if Tajima could catch him (he could). 

The captain can feel a heat crawling up his neck, but that feels stupid because... there's no way Tajima is serious about this, right? This has to be a joke. Why else would he say something so incredibly preposterous? 

"Uh," Hanai starts before an uncontrollably nervous laugh chokes from his throat. He coughs into his hand and looks up to the clean up hitter, who hasn't moved this entire time. "That's a joke, right?" 

"No!" Tajima slams his hands down onto the table and straightens up, getting higher onto his knees and leaning over the table. Hanai jerks backwards, both from the sound and the movement, pencil falling from his hand. "I mean it, Azusa!" 

Azusa? Now he's really going too far with this whole thing, and it's gone on long enough for Hanai's liking. The right fielder raises a hand, maybe thinking that it'll somehow clear his head -- there's no way this is happening to him right now. Another boy isn't in love with him. 

It's impossible. 

"Don't-- okay," he takes in a deep breath. His head is spinning and the room is moving and Tajima is leaning even further over the table and he's really just getting too close and Hanai thinks he might crawl over the table at this point. "Don't call me that. And just-- just drop this joke, okay?" 

"It's not a joke!" 

There's no way. 

"I came here to help you with your homework, not to get some... some love confession! If you're not going to work seriously, I'm just going to leave." 

And he makes to do so, too, starting to stand, until Tajima grabs his wrist. 

"I am serious, Hanai." 

The taller boy can feel a shiver run down his spine and a blush creep up his cheeks and he jerks his hand from the other boy's grasp, his head feeling heavy and muggy from trying to think about this situation. 

"I'll see you at practice, Tajima." 

This can't be happening.


	2. Anger

It's been a week.

Hanai figures it must've been a joke all along, because Tajima hasn't said it once again -- and knowing Tajima, if he really meant it, he would scream it in front of everyone. He was never one for being subtle, even with delicate matters such as this.

So it's really dropped off his radar, this whole "I love you" thing. He hasn't thought about it much since it happened (barring, of course, the night it did, when he was too bombarded with thoughts about how this couldn't be happening to him to even eat). Tajima is acting as normal as ever, so it doesn't really throw Hanai off when he comes running towards him in the empty locker room after practice.

"Hey, Hanai-- !"

His words falter as he has an uncharacteristic lapse in coordination, making him slide and then fall forward. Hanai can read the shock on his face in the seconds before he crashes into him, making them both fall to the floor.

"Whoa, sorry!" Tajima immediately says, sitting up on his knees and brushing off his hands so he's not quite on top of the captain, but his legs are still preventing him from moving much. He sits there for a moment, butt resting on his heels, and rubs his chin.

"Uh," the right fielder starts. "Did you come over here for any particular reason, Tajima?"

"Oh! Yeah," He laughs a little bit, his nose crinkling up as he does so. "I came to tell you something!"

Hanai waits, lifting a hand to indicate that he is ready to listen. It must be really important to warrant such a dramatic pause--

"I love you."

His hand freezes in the air, and he can feel something snap in his head.

"G--" Hanai's words catch in his throat, unprepared to respond to this statement again. "Get off!" He means for his words to stop there, but they don't, everything that he's thinking just spills out as he shoves Tajima off of him. "Get off, and get away from me!" His voice is louder than it really needs to be, and he can't quite think straight, and his voice is echoing off of the walls right back to him which is just making his thoughts more muddled. "I don't love you, and I will never love you! You're just-- you're just a..."

What does he want to say here?

No, he knows what he wants to say, he knows the horrible word he wants to call Tajima right now, but even in the midst of his anger, he can't make himself do it. He stands, using the lockers as some kind of anchor.

"But, Hanai--"

The clean up's feeble words are cut off by Hanai hitting his fist to the locker next to him.

"Shut up!" He can feel his throat tightening up. "Stop saying that you love me."

He slowly uncurls his fist, letting his hand drop to his side. He can't even bear to look at Tajima, at the boy who was just claiming that he loves him a minute ago. He closes his eyes for just a moment to try and collect his thoughts, but all he can see in his head is the color white. He blows a breath out of his mouth and opens his eyes, picking up his book bag.

"Azusa. Don't leave."

Tajima's voice is stronger this time.

"Don't..." Hanai's voice is as weak as ever, worn from the anger unleashed just a few seconds ago, tired from trying to fight this. He turns his head and finally looks down at his teammate. "Don't call me that." He pauses, his shoulders slumping slightly. He takes a few steps away, making towards the door. His hand hangs over the handle when he stops again. "In fact... just... don't. Just don't, Tajima."


	3. Isolation

14 days.

It's been 14 days since Hanai encountered Tajima in the locker room. Seven of those days he stayed home, feeling sick enough from his anger and confusion to actually qualify as a legitimate illness. The other seven he went to class and practice and then home immediately, not even stopping to shower or change after practice. He only addressed Tajima, or anyone else, for that matter, when necessary, and only using his captain voice.

There was no light, no warmth when he talked, and his whole body always felt heavy and weary -- especially in his chest. The cavity where his heart is felt dense and thick and full of things that shouldn't be there, and never were there when it came to Tajima: hatred, shame, rage, fear. But eventually, even those things faded, and all he could feel was an emptiness inside of him.

The clean up hitter tried to talk to him, tried to make it all seem like everything was okay by slinging his arm around his shoulder, or coming to talk to him during breaks, or just asking him about his day -- he was only ever met with a shrug, or a blank stare from eyes that had no fire in them, hidden behind glasses. Even Abe and Mizutani seemed to notice the way Hanai wasn't in any mood to deal with Tajima's antics.

"Is Hanai okay?" Mizutani would ask Abe, unknowing that the captain could hear him, even from his isolated spot near the window -- he wouldn't move his desk towards their's anymore during breaks. He would just look out the window, or at a blank page on his desk that was supposed to be homework.

"Idiot, keep it down," Abe would mutter back. "Let's just keep out of it. He can handle it himself."

Hanai could hear that, too.

He doesn't know if he can handle it himself, but he doesn't know what to do beyond be alone. He couldn't bring himself to tell anyone what was happening, and even if he could voice his thoughts into words, who could he trust? Not the team -- that would just bring untold humiliation to both of them. And surely not his parents; he didn't want to embarrass himself even more than he already had.

So he locks himself away, because he doesn't know who to tell, or who would be able to help him, and that just made him want to be alone even more. Thoughts of quitting the team popped into his head, as did thoughts of far more drastic measures like moving schools completely, destined only to ever see Tajima and the rest of his teammates during games. But even he knows that'll make things just so much worse, so he settles for being painfully alone at all times, even when at home.

"Azusa's even worse than he was in middle school," he could hear his mother say on the phone to the other team member's parents. "He comes home and won't even say a word to any of us! He just locks himself up in his room until morning."

He'll sometimes throw a baseball into the air while in bed and catch it to do something that resembles entertainment late at night when he can't sleep, but even that fails to hold his attention for long. He lets the ball fall from his fingers off the side of his bed, only to have it roll to his door -- his eyes watch it for a moment before shifting back to the ceiling.

There's a clicking at his window, and he thinks briefly that maybe someone is trying to break in and he's suddenly overcome with the realization that he wouldn't care even if they did. He can't bring himself to care about the idea of all his possessions being taken, or of himself being kidnapped and murdered, and he doesn't even crack a smile when he remembers Mizutani's absurd girl burglar fantasy.

But no, there's no one at the window, and the clicking is still going -- he finally sits up and goes over to look, when he sees Tajima standing outside, down below, one palm full of tiny rocks and the other poised for throwing. His eyes just barely twitch behind his glasses and his fingers hover over the latch of his window; does he really want to open it up and find out what Tajima has to say? Or will it just be another cause for his insides to feel hollow? He's probably come to finally yell at him for being such a jerk, or to tell him to go fuck himself. And maybe Hanai is a bit of a masochist, maybe he just wants some kind of retaliation from the freckled boy because maybe if he hates him too, some of his own hatred for himself will be lifted, and so he opens the window.

The smaller boy looks surprised as the window slides open, and he drops the pebbles from his hand. He gestures for Hanai to come down, and the right fielder can't quite make out his expression from his room in the dark, so he creeps down the stairs, leaving his room for the first time since he got home. He opens the door and leaves it cracked, one hand staying on the handle, firmly grounding himself in this reality, reminding himself that he has an escape. Tajima stands on the front steps, hands in his pockets.

"Why are you here?" Hanai mumbles, his voice unfamiliar even to himself. He hasn't talked for an extended period of time in so long that his voice has grown tired and creaky from lack of use, and he can't remember what he sounds like normally.

"I wanted to talk to you!" Tajima's eyebrows raise up a bit and he gives a lopsided smile. "You haven't been talking to me at school at all."

"Why do you still want to talk to me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I yelled at you."

"You always yell at me."

"I told you to not to talk to me."

This makes Tajima pause, and the air feels thick and humid, stifling noises that should be audible in the quiet. The third baseman finally hums lightly, almost in harmony with the cicadas, and then he sighs a bit, but even then it's more of a laugh than a sigh, and he starts grinning.

"What're you smiling about?" Hanai asks quietly, uncomfortably shifting his weight from side to side, Tajima's smile beyond comprehension for him. He doesn't get it -- how can someone be so happy after being told all those things?

"Because I love you, Hanai."

The already shallow breaths the taller boy was taking in seem to catch in his throat, and it's kind of like he isn't getting any oxygen at all -- his hand on the doorknob begins to tremble and he can't seem to move his gaze from the single spot on the ground in front of him. He closes his eyes, feeling the sting in them that only comes from fatigue, and finally can make himself move enough just to bring his free hand up and tug his hat down over his ears.

"Tajima--"

"Hanai. Look at me."

Hanai doesn't want to. He doesn't want to look up, he doesn't want to bring his gaze anywhere near the prodigy third baseman or his freckles or his smile or his eyes -- but he does, because he must be some kind of masochist. He does, and it makes him wince, because Tajima is still smiling, even though he knows what's coming, and his nose is crinkling up in the way that it only does when he's really happy. And Hanai winces again, because it only takes his teammate a moment to dive in to a hug, pulling him from the handle, pulling him from the reality he's grounded himself into and shoving him into a new one, a new reality that's grounded by Tajima.

"It's okay, Azusa."

Hanai doesn't even have the words to tell Tajima to knock it off, or to get off of him, or to not call him that.

"I know you don't. But I..." he pauses here, and he pulls back, hands coming around and fiddling with the fabric of the right fielder's shirt, still a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I just miss you." His voice is uncharacteristically small, and Hanai hates himself for thinking that it finally matches his body and yet still missing the way he normally sounds because it just doesn't match who Tajima is at all. "Please come back."

"I've... I've been there--"

"No, you haven't!" His words come out angrier than he intended. "No... you haven't. The team needs our captain back."

Hanai swallows, blinking back something that really must be tears, and must be the first emotional response to anything he's had in weeks -- he furrows his brows together. He can't cry, that's just too pathetic.

"I need you back, Hanai."

Quiet falls over the two boys again.

Is that what love is? Hanai tilts his head back a little bit, pressing his lips together. Is this what love is, when you're yelled at and treated like crap but can still see through the anger and know that they don't actually feel any malice towards you? When you can still forgive them for their irrational rage and still love them, somehow, and still want them to be around and still miss them when they aren't themselves?

Or is this just Tajima?

Is it just Tajima who feels this way, and is that even healthy, and how can someone really feel that way about anyone, let alone him -- more thoughts than Hanai has had in the last two weeks flood his mind all at once, and his chest feels a bit heavy as a regular breath can finally enter his lungs, and he's aware of the way his heart is beating, of his pulse in his ears.

He can feel the cement under his feet, and he's grounded in this moment, in this reality.The reality of Tajima telling him he loves him again, and him saying he misses him, and he needs him. He's missed out on this in these last 14 days, and there's really no telling how much else he's missed out on. Hanai swallows, some kind of laugh leaving him, and some kind of small smile on his mouth.

"Thank you, Tajima."


	4. Fear

Despite Tajima's good deed of pulling Hanai from his horrifying reality and into a new one, and despite Hanai even thanking him for it, the captain still can't help but feel terrified at the idea of being alone with Tajima. It's not like he thinks he's going to try anything, no, Tajima may be stubborn as hell but he's basically harmless.

He just doesn't want to be faced with that reality again.

And even he isn't sure why he feels his stomach knot with anxiety, or why his heart pounds in his ears when he thinks about the clean up hitter saying "I love you" again. Even after Tajima acknowledged that Hanai didn't return the feelings, he still can't get rid of the uneasy feeling that washes over his whole body whenever he sees his teammate.

Their game had been hot and exhausting and really far too long, so long that it's dark out as they ride the bus back to the school. A few boys are awake and whispering in their seats, trying to be quiet for the sake of others, but the rest are all fast asleep, worn out from the heat and the rigors of baseball.

Hanai listens to the quiet rumble of the engine and the cracking of pieces of gravel under the tires of the bus, leaning his head against his hand, his elbow resting on the narrow windowsill. He blinks into the night, his eyes and body too heavy to sleep.

They should almost be back by now.

He's aware of the presence next to him, of the boy sleeping soundly with his head tilted back against the seat and a jacket covering his torso, and he knows that he's fast asleep and that nothing will be said between the two of them, but he still doesn't want to look that way. He still can't look at Tajima, because he knows he'll just look too damn earnest and still happy. Happy to have Hanai back to his old self, he supposes.

It's been four days since Tajima stood on his front porch and said he missed him.That he needed him.

Remembering it makes Hanai's blood run cold.

Maybe Tajima has really gotten the picture, since then. Since four days ago, maybe he's put the thought out of his mind. Knowing Tajima, he's moved on to something much bigger and brighter, to something he really can accomplish.

The captain turns, just slightly, to look at his teammate. He looks so peaceful, and he's smiling just a little bit in his sleep. He's quiet -- quieter than Hanai has ever really seen him, and it's almost unnerving to him. But the quiet is disturbed as Tajima shifts under his makeshift blanket, a soft groan leaving his throat, and he sits up a little more, and Hanai instinctively jerks back.

"Are we home yet?" He asks, rubbing at his eyes, his voice a little too loud for the quiet of the bus.

"Quiet... people are trying to sleep," Hanai whispers, his heart pounding in his ears not just from the shock. But then it keeps going, and it's not just from shock, or fear, or anything else that he can really identify, and there's a tightening in his chest. He settles back into his seat, trying to ignore the redness that's coloring his cheeks. "Not yet."

Tajima is already drifting back off. He really wore himself out -- Hanai didn't know that it would be possible to see the third baseman with this little energy, no matter how much they wore him into the ground. He lets out a little mumble, and then slides over just a little closer to the right fielder, letting his head nestle itself against his shoulder.

And for some reason, Hanai allows it.

He lets his teammate rest his head there, even though it's practically burning his skin, even though he feels a heavy blush creeping along his neck and cheeks, and even though he can barely hear himself think with the way his heart is beating. He closes his eyes for just a moment before leaning his head against his hand again and looking back out the window.

Is this what love is?


	5. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the end of season 2.

By this time, Hanai has stopped trying to figure Tajima out.

Tajima has always been somewhat of a mystery: what makes him tick, what he thinks about when batting, if he's even ever thinking at all. But in this past month, it's been even more impossible and exasperating for the right fielder, because he's just been thinking about Tajima way too much, even in things that have absolutely nothing to do with him.

And now it's training camp, so they're in closer quarters than ever, and Momokan insists on pairing them up for things all the time, so they're always together. Despite all the time they spend with each other, and all the topics their conversations drift to, Hanai isn't any closer to figuring Tajima out.

The worst part is that he finds himself worrying about it -- if Tajima is okay, how he can get through to him, but of course, all his worries are baseless, because Tajima must be fine. Hanai doesn't need to get inside his head to know that. It's just a problem when it causes him to lose sleep over it.

He really needs to stop thinking about Tajima.

He sighs, trying to let out his stresses in one breath so he can just go to sleep already. He turns his head to the side, his eyes tracing the features of the clean up hitter's face as he sleeps next to him. Is this creepy? He can't be entirely sure, so he moves his gaze up to the ceiling, mouth curled into a distressed frown.

He starts, just as Tajima moves suddenly in his sleep, and he blinks back his out-of-place surprise -- he should be used to the movement. Tajima always moves around in his sleep. Nothing unusual there but... he lets his eyes wander back over his face, and his features look more anxious than usual, his brow tight and furrowed, his teeth gritting together, his fingers curled so tightly around his blanket that Hanai'd think they'd break. And maybe the captain is just a little worried, here, because his expression is just so strange on Tajima's face, and he tells himself it's because he's the captain and he's worried the same about all of his teammates, even if he knows that that's a blatant lie. He sits up, dragging his legs up across the sheets and pressing his lips together. Before he quite realizes what he's doing, his arms are outstretched and he's shaking the other boy awake.

The clean up hitter twitches in his sleep before waking up, rubbing at his eyes and swallowing thickly -- he seems startled, and anxious, and scared out of his mind. None of those things belong when talking about Tajima, because it's _Tajima_ and he is the most upbeat person Hanai knows and would ever care to know.

"Is it..." The third baseman starts, swallowing again, maybe to try and fix the unevenness of his voice, his brows still knotted together. "Is it morning already?"

"N...no," Hanai says, his voice faltering along with his nerve. He should've just let him sleep. "Are you okay? You seemed..." he searches for the right word, but they all just seem so wrong when addressing Tajima, "upset."

A tiny, forced laugh bubbles from Tajima's mouth. "Just a bad dream! It's fine now."

"That wasn't very convincing..."

The freckled boy's smile wavers, his eyes darting about the darkened room, looking anywhere but at the boy in front of him. He shrugs a little bit, a shrug that bounces his whole body, and his voice goes back to the normal amount of enthusiasm. "It was nothing!"

"What was it about?"

Tajima draws back, surprised, and maybe a bit unsure. Has he always been this unwilling to share things about himself? Or is it that he's always been written off by so many people that he just doesn't care to anymore?

Hanai's shoulders slouch a bit -- how many times has he written Tajima off in the past month? How much does he really know about Tajima, anyway? He's pretty sure he could list all the things he knows about his teammate on one hand, and sudden pangs of guilt run through him. Has he really dismissed Tajima so much that he's not willing to tell him about a simple bad dream?

The third baseman swallows again and crosses his arms over his chest, looking off to the side. He doesn't want to look at Hanai, it's too embarrassing, even for him. "It was just... it was just about everyone leaving, okay?" He huffs out a breath, digging his fingers into his arm. His voice had cracked on the last word, and there was a stinging in his eyes that he didn't want to admit was there. "About everyone leaving and forgetting about me." He sits back a bit, his shoulders slumping. "That's all."

"Tajima..."

And maybe something snaps inside Tajima right there, because he suddenly looks at Hanai and he becomes as shameless at ever, even with tears in his eyes and a knot in his throat. It all fits perfectly with who Tajima is, except for what he's saying and how his voice cracks on every other word.

"And, Hanai, I love you, and I know that you don't love me, but--"

"Tajima."

"But you just have to, you gotta say that you won't--"

"Tajima."

"That you won't... that I won't be alone again."

Hanai swallows, trying to push down the words dying in the back of his throat. He's never seen Tajima so upset, not even after they lost to Bijou, not even when he thought Hanai was bullying Mihashi, not ever. And it's scary, and out of character, and it's scary because it's so out of character. The frown and the glassiness of his eyes seem misplaced and wrong on Tajima's face, and he's finally stopped talking, but Hanai isn't sure if he likes that -- he doesn't like the way the clean up hitter looks when he's upset. He can feel a tightening in his chest that makes his heart hurt, and he brings up a hand to clutch at his t-shirt, as if that would alleviate the pain somehow.

"Tajima."

Hanai says his name again, not so much to get his attention as it is to soothe himself, to clear his mind. He pulls his hand from his shirt and, in a bold move that he's not sure he gave himself permission to do, grabs Tajima's hands, clasping them in both of his. His fingers are cold, and clammy, and this really feels all wrong -- usually it's the right fielder whose hands are cold from nerves and stress, and it's Tajima who gives him warmth and ease.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he can't make the words come, even though he wants to -- he desperately wants to tell Tajima what he's feeling because he knows it'll bring the smile back, and he wants to get it off his chest, but the words won't form. His mouth and throat and tongue are all betraying him in this crucial moment, and he doesn't know what to do, so he stares at his thumbs in the dim moonlight. He can feel Tajima's eyes on him, and he knows he needs to do something, or he's worried that he'll never see that smile again (impossible, but when it's 2 in the morning anything seems possible, because at 2 in the morning Hanai's rational mind wasn't exactly there to tell him that never is an awfully long time--). So he blinks once, twice, and then shifts his gaze up to his teammate, and, in one swift, shaky movement, releases his hands, takes him by the collar of the shirt, and crashes their lips together.

It's warm, and it's surprising even to him, and their teeth clack together uncomfortably for a moment, and Hanai really just needs to remind himself to breathe through all of this. It barely lasts long enough for them to settle in to it, and when they part, the captain's knuckles are white from grabbing at Tajima's shirt so hard and the clean up hitter's hands are shaking against the sheets.

"I love you, Tajima," and the words finally spill out all at once, pulled out from the aftermath of the kiss, blush heating up Hanai's cheeks. "I love you, and I should've realized it earlier, and--"

And just then, his hands loosen their grip on Tajima's shirt, and his eyes travel their way back up to his face, and he can see his teammate smiling, just like he always does. It's better, and it's normal, to see his lips in a grin, and his nose crinkle up, and his eyes shining from the light seeping in through the window normally, rather than from tears.

Maybe it's a little weird, because normally when Tajima looks like that, he's laughing, or saying something, or cracking some kind of joke. But now, he's just quiet, smiling, and it puts Hanai on edge, until the other boy leaps onto him, wrapping his arms around his neck and making him fall back onto the mattress. He laughs, though it's more of a sigh than a laugh, as he presses his face into the crook of Hanai's neck. The captain can feel his skin boiling with a red blush along his neck and cheeks, but he doesn't fight it -- it's hopeless to battle something like that now. He's already too far gone.

So he lets his arms slide their way through Tajima's, and he lets the third baseman kiss him again, and he even lets him call him by his given name when he repeats that he loves him. He lets himself fall asleep like that, with Tajima on his chest, even though he knows the team will wake up and see them and know that something had happened that can't be explained away by the clean up's erratic sleeping patterns.

He even lets him kiss him in the morning as they got dressed, after everyone had left the room but the two of them, because he can feel the smile on Tajima's mouth as they press their lips together, and everything seems normal and correct again.

Maybe Tajima isn't so hard to figure out after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Based loosely on the five stages of grief theory, but some have been changed to better suit the story and the characters.


End file.
